


--What We Are--

by alpine_street



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drug Use, Groping, Intimacy, Kissing, Lies, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Psychological Torture, References to Kaede, Sadism, Sexual Tension, oumasai, saiouma, takes place after the 4th class trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 13:17:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15730167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpine_street/pseuds/alpine_street
Summary: Child·ishadjectiveOf, like, or appropriate to a child."Childish enthusiasm"Synonyms: childlike, youthful, young, young-looking, girlish, boyish, babyAfter doing some snooping around the Academy for Gifted Juveniles, Kokichi Ouma finds a vial of truth serum in the Ultimate Detective's Lab. Eager to exact a playful revenge for turning against him during the most recent trial, Kokichi decides he's going to have a little fun with the Ultimate Detective.





	--What We Are--

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long-ass time since I wrote any fanfiction, so I hope y'all fuckers like this. This was a concept that I was really eager to get on to paper, so thank you for taking the time out of your day to read it. Over and out.

Sleepless nights.

Shuichi was having more of them as the number of remaining students continued to dwindle. He would think about the promise of the killing game going and going until only two students remained. Every time their numbers went down, the more he began to question how much danger he was in, exactly. With so few left, he could easily be picked off next.

But tonight that idea was far from his thoughts. He thought not about how few of them were left. After tonight, a little less than half of their original number remained at this point. 7 students left, 9 killed or executed. So tonight, he wouldn’t be adding up the numbers in his head. He would be praying.

For what, he didn’t know. He wasn’t a religious person. He had had a couple of friends that were Christian and an Aunt who was a devout Buddhist, but it had never really clicked with him. But tonight, eyes closed, he just prayed. Prayed, he supposed, for nobody else to die. For nothing else bad to happen. Especially after what had transpired just an hour previously.

He shut his eyes and didn’t sleep. Images of Miu and Gonta were still deeply ingrained in his memory. Imprinted on the backs of his eyelids.

In a way, one of them had been damned by his word. That was what made it all the more unbearable. True, they were in danger from the next student coming in for the kill, having the vicious cycle repeat, but they were also in danger from Shuichi, whose responsibility, it seemed, was to solve each and every murder.

His talent was damning his friends to hell. Hos friends who just wanted to escape the cycle.

Perhaps it was just the burden that he had to bear.  

He gripped a clump of bedsheets in his hand. He was beyond exhausted, but his mind refused him sleep. It wouldn’t shut up. Just the same prayer over and over again, almost like a mantra being chanted by a well-knit cult of brain cells.

_Please don’t let anything else bad happen._

_Please don’t let anything else bad happen._

_Please don’t let anything else bad happen._

_Please._

 

He flopped onto his back, eyes still shut. This was how spiraling began. Shuichi had been sent to a doctor once for inability to manage stress, so this was something he needed to monitor. A sensory and mindfulness exercise was the only thing he could think of to do. He loosened his grip on the sheets and took a deep breath. Listen to every sound one can hear. Pick them out. Separate them.

It was almost frustrating how hard it was when everything in the school was so goddamn quiet. Gonta had been so upset about there being no bugs on campus, and at this time of year, Shuichi would often go to sleep to the sound of crickets or cicadas. And when there were none, the rustling of the wind in the trees. It was why he slept with a window open. Here we was too afraid to leave anything open.

No, there was definitely something, like a high pitched squeal. Was it the static of the monitor? It must have been. He had read somewhere that having a tv in one’s room was good feng shui and it was a source of positive energy. He could hear his breathing, and he matched it to a steady beat. And there was something else…

The small creak of a floorboard. He had never heard the foundation settle before. It was a little bit unsettling, to say the least.

_Ha. “Unsettling.” Akamatsu would like that._

Then came another.

_Huh?_

A creaking floorboard was one thing. A second one following immediately after was another. Was somebody in the room with him? No, no, he was just just paranoid.

 _Focus on the static, focus on your breathing, focus on your heartbeat, don’t open your eyes until you’ve fallen asleep._      

Focus on the hand grabbing his chin, forcing his mouth open, and sliding its fingers down his throat.

 

Shuichi shot up like a bullet, crying out and pushing the invisible force from his bedside. He could hear it hit the edge of his desk with considerable force, a chair falling and papers going everywhere. Shuichi, gagging and hacking as his gag reflex kicked into high gear, scrambled over his bed to turn on the light. He finally flicked the switch. The sudden light hurt his eyes, but not as much as the eyesore who had just barged into his room and was currently laying on the floor massaging his head with his hand.

“Ouma?”

Ouma grinned with an air of intense discomfort from where he was laying. “Mr. Detective.”

“What--you--I don’t--” Shuichi stammered. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know, you seemed a little dejected after the trial so I thought I’d come to check up on my beloved Kawaii-hara.” Ouma sat upright, wincing in pain. “You know, I don’t know why I worry. You’re about as spry as ever and just _full_ of piss and vinegar.”

He couldn’t quite explain it, but Shuichi could feel something hard and round lodged in his throat. It made his voice croak a little. “How did you get in?”

“Picked the lock, how else?”

“You--!”

“Just kidding! That’s a lie!” Ouma hoisted himself back up and dusted himself off. “Your door was unlocked. You should really be more careful, especially with so few of us left now.”

Shuichi clenched his fists, the feeling in his throat still present. He was angry, but also a bit embarrassed that he had made such a careless mistake. “Unlocked or not, you can’t just come barging into my room in the middle of the night! And you especially can’t…” His throat stuck. “Can’t...ack…” Finally, he swallowed hard, the lump in his throat slowly clearing.

“Oh-ho?” Ouma mused. “Looks like it finally went down.”

Shuichi dumbly placed a hand on his throat. “What do you mean?”

Ouma put a hand in his pocket and produced a transparent glass bottle. He shook it so that the sea foam colored capsules inside made a rattling sound. “I’ve been spending a lot of time in your lab these past couple of days, Saihara-chan! I was totally wrong, detective-ing is super interesting! Turns out there’s so much to learn about different poisons and narcotics.”

_Wait._

“Poison?”

Ouma just kept on smiling. “Ni-shi-shi, did you think that I poisoned you? No no no no no, this isn’t poison. Plus if I was going to poison you, I sure wouldn’t do it here.” He checked the bottle’s label. “It’s got, uh… a-amo...barbie… I can’t pronounce that. Anyway, you should be feeling it in a few seconds.”

Suuichi only hesitated for a moment. He bolted for the door and tried to open it, but the knob refused to budge. With all his might he jerked the doorknob backwards, but the door couldn’t be forced open. He whirled around, gasping for breath. “What did you do?”

“Oh nooo, is your door jammed? My, that _is_ rather unlucky,” Ouma said coyly.

“Ouma!” Shuichi screamed. “What the hell did you give me?”

“I think you’ll find out soon enough.”

“No more...lies...” The room shook. Shuichi closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was closer to the floor. He steadied himself against the wall to prevent himself from falling, but… the room seemed to be getting smaller? As if the walls were closing in on him, getting heavier. His eyelids were getting heavier. His limbs were getting heavier. His hands were made of linseed oil, slick, flammable. They slipped off the wall and fell underneath him. The room was so small now, like a cat’s house, and there was two of everything, like a doll house. Then three. Then four. Then none. The small square of floor was the only space in the room left.

Ouma knelt beside the unconscious detective. He snagged his chin with his fingers. “No more lies, hm? That’s what I’m counting on, my little Detective Conan.”

\--

 

Shuichi saw the bright overhead light. He felt the soreness in his muscles. He tasted chalk and pigment in his mouth. His sense of taste was about the strongest thing he was feeling. His lucidity left much to be desired. He tried to move, but his arms were too sore to do much with them. And even if they weren’t he didn’t even know what he would do with them. He tilted his head down with all the strength he could muster and saw a white checkered scarf, no, a boy in a checkered scarf sitting at the foot of his bed. He was still holding his little glass bottle.

“It’s a drug called ‘Eat Me,’” said the blurry figure omitting Ouma’s voice. “I’m guessing it’s a reference to Alice in Wonderland. Clever name, since you should never blindly trust just any option or person in a dangerous situation. And I suppose this can remedy that.” He sighed. “Well, you were wondering, so there you go.”

“Ouma...kun…” Even speaking was a struggle. Delirious and nearly immobile, Shuichi still knew exactly what Ouma had given him. He recognized the name. He had seen it in his lab.

Ouma slid down the bed closer to Shuichi. “You’ve probably already realized I’ve slipped you an incredibly potent truth serum, haven’t you?”

Shuichi began breathing more rapidly.

Ouma remained relaxed. “Me, I couldn’t believe it. I had never heard of a drug that compels people to tell the truth that could be taken orally. I thought serums had to be injected. Incredible how far pharmaceuticals have come, in’nit?”

And more rapid, and more. Shuichi was nearly gasping for breath in a blind panic.

Ouma scowled. “Ah, brother.” He clamped his hand shut over Shuichi’s mouth. “Shut up. The more you resist the worse this is going to be, you know? So stop freaking out, Jesus. It’s annoying.”

Only made it harder to breath. More fast breaths. It became more and more vocal. Shuichi’s eyes were the size of dinner plates, red and rimming with tears. This only made Ouma more angry.

His fist made contact with Shuichi’s stomach, making him cry out and double over in pain, falling from being propped upright. “Will you shut the fuck up?” Ouma said haughtily. “You’ve got a lot of nerve being so defiant after what you did to me, my beloved Saihara.”

Shuichi now lay on his side, muscles sore, face red, tears falling onto the sheets. He was still wearing his dress shirt and pants that he usually wore to bed, but he felt naked. Like Ouma was undressing him with his eyes.           

“Aw maaaan,” Ouma groaned. “Now you’re making me feel bad. Tell me if it hurts, ok?” He giggled. “Oh wait, I guess you wouldn’t have a choice, now would you?”

Shuichi coughed out a string of spit as his faucet of tears refused to turn off. He felt like he was going to throw up. “It hurts.”

Ouma smiled big again. “Aha, so it’s working, is it? Bingo.”

“Why…”

“What was that? I can’t hear you.”

Shuichi looked up at him. “Why… are you doing… this?” It took so much control just to speak.

Ouma sighed, plopping himself down on the bed next to Shuichi’s crumpled body. “I don’t know, why don’t _you_ tell me, Saihara-chan?”

“I… don’t know…”

“Ni-shi-shi… so you really don’t,” Ouma said flippantly. “So not only are you impetuous, you’re ignorant.”

“What…?”

Ouma began to stroke Shuichi’s hair, not even looking at him. “You see, Saihara-chan, I like to have fun. I’m still just a child, after all. Half of the lies I tell are told with that in mind, you realize. But I have to be prepared if people act out against me because I lie. I expect it.” Ouma laughed. “I want other people to have fun too. So I don’t mind if people lie. And I also don’t mind if people have fun at my expense, either. I’ll be the butt of jokes, the scapegoat in difficult situations, I don’t really care. I just want other people to have fun with me.” Without warning, Ouma balled his hand into a fist and yanked Shuichi up by the hair. “But my leniency has its limits, Saihara-chan. And after that stunt you pulled during the trial I do believe you’ve just about put me at the end of my rope. Do you still remember what you did? You probably don’t, do you?”

Shuichi shook his head, or he tried to. He didn’t actually know if he had done anything. He felt like he was floating underwater.

Ouma leaned in so that Shuichi could see the outline of every tooth in his crooked smile. “You lied to _me_. To my face. In front of everyone else. And you thought that you could get away with it. ‘Went back to the salon, Ouma-kun wasn’t there.’ What a bunch of facetious BS.” Ouma let go of Shuichi’s hair. His head flopped back down on the bed. “Well, maybe the lie wasn’t really directed at me. But not only did you lie to me, you lied to frame me for a murder I didn’t commit. Are you trying to get us all killed, Saihara-chan?”

“No,” Shuichi choked out.

“I didn’t think so.” Ouma sprang up to grab the chair from Shuichi’s desk. When he came back, he set the chair down backwards and sat on it, his arms leaning on the headrest. “ _I_ didn’t kill Miu. You knew that from the start.” He rocked back and forth on the legs of the chair. “But you still tried to shift the blame to me in the end. Little old me. You’re really no better than Momota, you know. Making decisions based solely on faith.” He paused. “Taking me for a fool.”

Ouma put his hand on Shuichi’s shoulder and pushed him so that he lay flat on his back. “So I’m here to punish you, Saihara-chan! We’re going to have a little fun together, you and me!”

Every nerve in Shuichi’s body screamed to be pulled up. _Get up. Get up._ But he was exhausted. Every conversation with Ouma felt like an out of body experience. Now that he was so drugged up that he actually felt like he was below his body and sinking into the floor, it felt even more otherworldly. He was slipping in and out of what Ouma was saying. He turned his head and glared at him. It was a small act of rebellion. But it made him feel a little more in control.

“Leave me alone…”

“T’haaa!” Ouma laughed. “Saihara-chan is so pretty when he’s angry.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad and a pen. He clicked the pen theatrically. “Now then, are you ready for a little Q and A? I have a very strong feeling that you are. Don’t worry, a lot of them are just simple yes-or-no questions. No bells and whistles, no strings attached.”

He turned the first page on his notepad. “See, the first question’s easy. What is your name?”

“Shuichi...Saihara.” The words just fell out of his mouth. He didn’t even think about it.

“Very good,” Ouma said in the condescending tone of an elementary school teacher. “And how old are you, Shuichi dear?”

“16 years old.”

“Ah, a little older than I thought you were,” Ouma mumbled. "And what is your Ultimate Talent?"

"The Ultimate Detective."

"Do you enjoy being the Ultimate Detective?"

"No."

“Ohoho…" Ouma chittered. "Now we get into the fun ones.”

“Why…” muttered Shuichi. “Why… the questions?”

Ouma stared at him. “Because this is the truth that you love so much, Saihara-chan. The one that you’re always striving to find. So you’re going to tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, isn’t that right?”

Shuichi nodded.

“Yes, that’s right,” Ouma purred. “You’re going to tell me the truth no matter what I ask. Anything and everything. Until. You. Get. Sick of it.” He reached over to brush a strand of hair out of Shuichi’s face.

“This is what your one little lie cost you, my dear.”

 

\--

 

It felt like hours.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, the pain in his arms and legs snapping him back into reality. Sometimes Ouma’s voice felt much too close. Other times it felt too far away. Ouma moved around the room so much that Shuichi could never tell where he was. His voice always moved. Shuichi felt so light, but when he tried to move he felt so heavy. He could loll his head back and forth and move his arms short distances, but he could barely tell that his body was responding in any way. The sheets, his clothes, everything touching him felt so far away.

Like somebody had emptied him out and put something else back inside.

The words were the worst part of it all. They just came out, spilling over like a bucket of water that was a little too full. He had no control over them. He was still laying flat on his back, dispensing truths he had no control over.

“So, Shuichi.” Ouma spun on his heels and flipped his notepad in his hands. “I want to hear a little bit about Miss Akamatsu. You two were terribly close, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Shuichi said weakly.

“What were you two to each other, exactly?”

“We were… friends.”

“Let me rephrase that.” Ouma strode a bit closer. “What was she to _you_?”

Akamatsu. Kind, sweet, pretty Akamatsu. The one that he missed so dearly.

“The girl… that I liked.”

Ouma’s eyes widened with delight. “Well well well! And all this time I thought Saihara-chan was a Friend of Dorothy’s! Silly, silly me.” He chuckled with the giddiness of a little kid. “Tell me, did you ever think about kissing her?”

“Yes.”

“What about other things? Putting your hands around her waist and getting reeeeaaal close? Hm?”

“Yes.”

Ouma brought his thumb up to his mouth and bit it. “What about this, Saihara-chan?” He brushed Shuichi’s chest with his hand. It felt like a push back into his body.  “Did you ever think about the two of you, alone together…” He ran his thumb across Shuichi’s chest. “And you put your hands on Akamatsu’s smooth little waist, pulling that cute little pink jumper up over her? And then…” he giggled. “Reaching up to the strap of her bra and undoing the clips? Those big breasts of hers yours for the the taking?” He dragged his index finger up to hold Shuichi’s chin. “Running your thumbs down her perky little nipples? Did you ever think about that, Saihara-chan?”

Shuichi’s eyes began to sting. Tears began to fall from them once again.

“Yes…”

“What about when you watched her die? Did you think about it then?” Ouma cackled.

His mouth tasted like salt. “No…”

“Ni-shi-shi, well, now at least we know that Saihara-chan has a dirty mind, too.” He sat back down on the bed. “Even the ever woeful, collected Mr. Detective thinks plenty about sex. You pleasure yourself, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

This time Ouma’s hand wandered to one of the belt loops on the waist of Shuichi’s pants. He tugged on it. “Do you have a favorite place to do it? Your special little spot to rub one out?”

“The shower…”

“Mmm, good choice. I suppose you could say you like it in the ‘heat of the moment,’ then?” said Ouma. “So… do you ever think about Akamatsu when you take care of yourself like that? Stark naked in front of you? On top of you, grinding her hips into yours? Or maybe hanging from that piano wire rope of hers.”

Shuichi’s jaw quaked, making it difficult to speak. Sharp sobs rose from his throat. He tried his best to suppress them. “No…”

“My,” Ouma cooed. “Always the gentleman, my beloved Saihara-chan. How boring.”

 

\--

 

Hours upon hours.

That was what it felt like. Shuichi honestly couldn’t tell anymore.

Ouma would ask questions about seemingly random subjects. But when he hit something dirty, he tended to fixate on it. It was likely a tactic to dig out the most humiliating answers.

“Have you ever lusted after a man before, Saihara-chan?”

“Yes.”

“Oooh! So someone swings both ways! Sherlock likes himself a little of both, I see. It’s healthy to experiment, you know. Men stick _one_ finger up themselves, and if they like it then they worry that it'll make them want to play for the other team. Shame that they let that masculine pride get in the way of one of nature’s worldly pleasures. But I suppose I don’t have to tell you that, do I, Saihara-chan?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. Now then, your fantasies. It’s all that you probably have, being the whiny little greasy-headed, useless little virgin that you are. So do you ever see yourself being tied up during sex? Or maybe you like to put those hands of yours to good use.”

Those were the worst.

 

Other times it was just questions prying into his personal life.

 

“Do you miss your parents?”

“Yes.”

“Would you kill for them?”

“No.”

“Hm… I suppose they wouldn’t want you to. Who can say what befell Shuichi Saihara’s painfully normal and disturbingly well-adjusted family? I guess you could never even venture a guess since you never saw your motive video. Do you think they’re dead, Saihara-chan?”

“No.”

“Well, you think or you hope?”

“I hope...”

“Do you even believe in the power of hope, Saihara-chan?”

“No...”

“That’s what I thought. The glass is always half empty when you’re at the helm of the ship, my dear.”

Those made him worry.

 

He continued to drift in and out. All the questions blended together. He continued to dispense the answers like a pez machine that was high off its ass. It was a swirling, mindless, drugged up hell that he was swimming in, but he was growing accustomed to it. The answers produced themselves. He didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to focus on the questions. As long as he drifted in and out, in and out, he could bear it. It was almost like breathing. In those moments that he was separate, when he felt nothing touching his body, he could almost think.

He thought about how he wasn’t so used to this kind of attention from Ouma.

When they talked, all of Shuichi’s time was taken up by trying to comprehend Ouma’s unpredictable, sometimes erratic behavior. He would shoot off at the mouth with nonsense that Shuichi couldn’t understand. All of their time was spent like that. Conversation that went any deeper was rare.

So this was how it would happen.

This was how he and Ouma would become closer.

It wasn’t how Shuichi imagined it going. It was horribly intrusive and purely one-sided.

 

“Shuichi?”

 

Shuichi’s eyes fluttered open. He had come back down to earth, if only for a brief moment. He was still sprawled flat on his back in the same position. To his surprise, he could move his limbs just fine. They were sore, but he could move.

“Wakey wakey.” Ouma was very close to his face. He touched a finger to Shuichi’s nose. “I was afraid you’d fallen asleep on me.”

“Is it… over?”

“Not quite, my darling Saihara-chan. But you’ve done splendidly.” Ouma drew back. He was sitting beside Shuichi on the bedsheets. “I’ve exhausted my options. I’ve nothing else to ask that’s of any interest to me. This has been a real bonding experience for us, hasn’t it?” He stretched his arms and let out a yawn. “I’m a little underwhelmed, to be honest. Saihara-chan’s deepest darkest secrets aren’t anything to write home about.”

Shuuchi touched his hand to his face. The tears from earlier had crusted over into a thin film on his face. Ouma noticed this and grinned.

“Well, I guess I got to see you squirm a little. That was _quite_ exciting. It’s so cute when you lose your big, mean, detective composure like that. Almost sexy.” He laughed. “Kidding, kidding. Just kidding. But in any case, I’m satisfied.”

Suichi scowled. He hoisted himself up a bit so that he was leaning up against the wall adjacent to the head of his bed, just a bit. “So are you… done? Will you... leave me alone now?”

Ouma turned himself so that he lay on his side. “Well, I did have… _one_ more question.”

Shuichi’s heart sank.  

Ouma’s fingers played with the sheets on the bed. He stared at them dreamily. “Saihara-chan, I really am… such a child.”

“What?” Shuichi stared at him weakly.

Ouma snickered. “It’s what everyone calls me. ‘You tell lies, play pranks, toy with people to see what they’ll do…’ And they call me a child.” He shifted onto his side, crinkling the sheets. “But with everyone here, all of us are children. I’m no older or younger than anyone else. So why don’t we act more like children? Why don’t we fall in love like children, make promises like children, play games like children, or become friends like children?” He looked up at Saihara playfully. “Because after all, isn’t that what we are? Aren’t we all just children?”

Shuichi made a puzzled expression.

“Maybe it’s a silly thing to say. So, Saihara-chan…” Kokichi pulled himself up to Suichi’s eye level. “My final question is this.” He hesitated, lips parted.

 

“What do you think of Kokichi Ouma?”

 

As always, the answer dispensed itself like clockwork. But this time it took a bit longer, since the answer was more complex than yes or no. But in time it came.

“Kokichi Ouma,” Shuichi began, “is a self-absorbed, immature little sadist who will act out with scant regard for the people around him. If someone wanted to keep themselves safe, they would do well to pay him little mind. He’s too difficult to trust, because… you can’t tell when he’s telling the truth.”

Ouma nodded, his impish face still beaming. “Mmmhmm…”

“His value of human life is questionable. He’s already shown that he doesn’t care who lives and who dies. Because he wants to win the game. And he...”

“Yes?”  

“He wants me to hate him.”

Ouma’s smile faded.

“I think he wants… everyone to hate him,” said Shuichi. “And I think that’s why he lies so much. And I don’t understand that at all.” Shuichi had a wistful look in his eyes. “But I want to know why he does the things that he does. I want to know why he wants to hurt people.”

“What… what are you saying?” Ouma muttered.

“Kokichi Ouma is someone I want to understand better.”

 

Without warning, Ouma sprang up and grabbed Shuichi by the collar of his shirt. He yanked him from the wall and pushed him back into the mattress with more force than Shuichi thought that Ouma’s tiny frame was capable of.

He was wearing an expression that Shuichi had never seen him make. His face was twisted into an intense glare, but this wasn’t his usual, spiteful glare. He was wide-eyed and seething with rage. He breathed hard through clenched teeth.

Shuichi _was_ afraid. But he was a little excited. He had never gotten this much of a rise out of Ouma. Nobody had. Not in earnest.

He didn’t even remember what he said to illicit this kind of reaction.

Ouma took slammed Shuichi hard against the mattress. It knocked the wind out of Shuichi for a moment.

“I--!”

Ouma stopped. He loosened his grip. His hateful eyes gradually became softer, and his breath slowed to healthier pace.

“I....”

He let go of Shuichi. The two were in an odd position, Ouma straddled over Shuichi barely holding onto his collar. He wasn’t even looking at Shuichi. He was just staring off into space.

Shuichi was fading again. He was conscious enough to know that when he came to, he would need to face a different situation that would be a direct product of what happened in this very moment.

He grabbed Ouma’s hand, the one still brushing the collar of his shirt, and slipped back through the veil.

 

\--

 

He came back to a feeling of warmth. And a certain feeling of wetness. There was something around his neck. Something warm and damp. It felt nice. The muscles in his neck felt relaxed. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see a figure sitting by his bedside. He shifted to see the figure.

“Ouma-kun.”

Ouma wasn’t looking at him. He was leaned back in the chair taken from Shuichi’s desk, looking to the side, preoccupied with something. “Mm. Welcome back.”

Shuichi noticed that Ouma wasn’t wearing his scarf.

_Ah._

It was around his own neck. Ouma must have run it under the hot water tap and wrung it out. Shuichi was confused by the gesture.

Ouma looked surprisingly more grown up without his scarf. He had a very pronounced clavicle and a fairly visible adam’s apple. It was sometimes easy to forget that Ouma was about the same age as him. Ouma was a first year in high school, just like himself. With both his appearance and immature nature, it was easy to forget.

“Keep the scarf,” said Ouma. “I’ve got loads more in my own room.”

“Th… thank you?”

“Don’t mention it. Ever.”

Shuichi rubbed his eyes. They felt sore and worn out, like he had been staring at a screen for hours on end. He had begun to hear the static of the monitor again. He was coming back down.

“You really are cruel, Saihara-chan,” said Ouma.

“ _I’m_ cruel?” Shuichi said.

Ouma looked back at him. “You’re really no better than me. Toying with people like that.”

“I don’t even hardly remember what I said.”

“I guess it doesn’t really matter. You’re coming down, aren’t you?”

“I think so.”

“You still sound a little high,” Ouma said.

“I think that’s because I _am_ still a little high.” Shuichi noticed that Ouma was nervously massaging one of his hands. If Shuichi remembered correctly, it was the hand that he had grabbed right before he had slipped off last time.

The sequence of events was beginning to come back a little bit. It was strange. Kokichi Ouma, who had snuck into his room, drugged him, and forced him to undergo a humiliating trust exercise for his own personal entertainment. The two of them on the bed, Ouma looking to harm Shuichi again, had shown something resembling mercy. The way he was acting produced so many contradictions.

“Ouma-kun.”

“What?”

“I want to ask questions now too.”

Ouma seemed surprised. “Huh?”

“Were you really lying to Gonta?”

“Ha!” Ouma’s defenses dropped. “Of course I was. Who would cry for that feral sack of garbage?”

Shuichi smiled. “So I guess I’ll never really know. You’re not the one high on truth serum.”

“Saihara-chan, whatever you’re doing right now--”

“Why do you pretend that you don’t care about us?”

“Because I don’t!” Ouma snapped. “After watching nine of your friends die, you still don’t get it? This game isn’t stopping. And I said so at the beginning, didn’t I? I want to win. I don’t want to escape, I don’t want to survive, I want to _win_. And if that means picking off a bunch of idealistic imbeciles one by one, then so be it.”

“Then why did you ask me what I thought of you?” Shuichi just kept smiling. “If you didn’t care about us, then you wouldn’t care about what we thought of you.”

Ouma stood up, looming over Shuichi. The air in the room grew thick.

“Ha.” Was this what Ouma felt like all the time? To hold someone in the palm of their hand with just words? “Getting worked up because this didn’t work out the way you wanted? You really are childish.”

“Very funny, Saihara-chan. But I’m the one asking the questions here. Not you.”

Shuichi sat up to his full height. “Then ask away. What else have you got?”

The way Ouma was looking at him, Shuichi was almost sure that Ouma was going to strike him or yell at him or something like that. Ouma stayed stagnant for what felt like a full minute, like he was looking for the best spot to go in for the kill.

Instead, Ouma placed a hand on the side of Shuichi’s face, cupping it in his palm. Not forcefully, but gently. “What is your name?”

_Gentle._

Shuichi was both startled by Ouma’s shift in attitude and embarrassed at the sudden contact. “Shuichi… Saihara.”

“And how old are you, Shuichi Saihara?” Ouma said, nearly whispering.

“16 years old.” Now that the drug had mostly run its course, Shuichi could feel his pulse in his whole body. It no longer felt distant.

Ouma knelt on the bed next to him. He reached for the collar of Shuichi’s shirt. He began to undo the top button. “Do you hate this, Shuichi Saihara?”

Shuichi swallowed. “No…”

He continued to unbutton the shirt, going even deeper down. “What is your Ultimate Talent, Shuichi Saihara?”

“The Ultimate Detective.”

All of the buttons had come undone. Ouma’s hands were surprisingly cold on his skin. The sensation startled him.

Ouma pressed his head to Shuichi’s chest. His hands slowly ran up the skin on his back, then came back down the sides of his ribs to hold his waist. At one point, Ouma’s lips brushed against Shuichi’s chest, eliciting a small gasp.  

“Do you enjoy being the Ultimate Detective?”

“N-no…”

“That’s a shame.” Ouma kissed the base of Shuichi’s neck. “You shouldn’t take your talent for granted like that…” He kissed it again. And again.

“O-Ouma-kun?”  

Ouma looked up at him. Hugging Shuichi tightly, the malice was gone.

“One final question,” Ouma whispered. “What do you think of Kokichi Ouma?”

“Kokichi Ouma,” Shuichi said, between breaths, with a slight tremble to his voice, “is a self-absorbed, immature little sadist who will act out with scant regard for the people around him. If someone wanted to keep themselves safe, they would do well to pay him little mind. He’s too difficult to trust, because you can’t tell when he’s telling the truth.” Shuichi closed his eyes. “And his greatest wish is to be hated by all. To destroy everything he touches. Because he thinks it’s the easiest way to exist. But because he was callous and selfish...his friends ended up getting hurt. Kokichi Ouma is someone that I want to understand better. Because after all, he’s still just a child.”

Then Ouma kissed him.

“Mmph-!”

He reached up and held Shuichi’s face and helped him ease into the kiss. It did help. Shuichi hugged Ouma’s body close to his own. Ouma’s bare neck was slender and pale. He wanted to touch it. His blood was rushing a million miles an hour.

He shouldn’t have been enjoying this as much as he was. Confused, still unforgiving, still a little high. But he had never kissed anyone before.

Never once did he think his first would be a boy he had been so puzzled over for so long.

Ouma pulled away, just for a moment. “I’m so sorry, Saihara-chan.”

Shuichi opened his eyes. “Why?”

Ouma smashed his face back in for another kiss. This one was much more forceful, as he immediately forced his tongue into Shuichi’s mouth. Shuichi didn’t even have time to react.

He felt something hard in the back of his mouth.

Something hard, small, and round sliding down his throat.

Ouma pulled away as Shuichi gagged, coughed, and swallowed.

Ouma’s claws dug into the side of his face like needles.

And he smiled that horrible, manic, childish smile. He cackled like a hyena as Shuichi realized what he had done.

 

What Ouma had put in his mouth.

 

“IT WAS A LIE!” Ouma screamed. “ALL OF IT!” He laughed heartily, his face not an inch away from Shuichi’s.

Shuichi struggled to get free, but Ouma had an iron grip on his head. Terror took over once more. Shuichi’s blood ran completely cold as he shook in Ouma’s hands. “St-stop. Stop!”

But he was already beginning to fade. There was two of Ouma. Then three. Then four. All of them shaking his head back and forth, rattling his brain inside his skull and screaming into his face. “Stop it!”

“COME ON, SHUICHI! LET’S PLAY LIKE CHILDREN! LET’S BREAK OUR PROMISES LIKE CHILDREN! LET’S MAKE LOVE LIKE CHILDREN! LET’S SLIT OUR WRISTS LIKE CHILDREN! LET’S KILL EACH OTHER LIKE CHILDREN!” Ouma’s wide, purple eyes bore into Shuichi’s skull. His voice rang in his ears. “BECAUSE AFTER ALL, ISN’T THAT WHAT WE ARE?”

The laughter swarmed around him like a tide. It was an ugly sound, like a fork on a chalkboard. But gradually, the sound became more monotonous. More familiar.

_Ah._

_It’s only the static on the monitor._

The calm, ringing of the monitor was coming from Ouma's mouth. He screamed in monotone, laughed in monotone, spoke in a high pitched squeal.

_It's ok._

_Just focus on the static of the monitor._

_Focus on your breathing._

_Focus on your heartbeat._

_Everything will be ok._

The walls closed him in once again. Four of Ouma. Then five. Then six. Then none. His hands were made of linseed oil.

He fell beneath the floor.

 

\--

 

After a while, Saihara finally stopped struggling and fell limp in his hands. Kokichi Ouma let Saihara down gently. He was dizzy from shouting. He steadied himself on the bed. He pulled the bottle of spherical, white pills from his pocket and checked the label.

These were the sedatives. Good. He hadn’t confused them with the truth serum supplements.

He yanked his scarf off of the bed and turned to leave. But he stopped before leaving.

_Don’t look back._

_Don’t look at him._

He turned to look at Saihara, snoozing peacefully, curled up on the bed.

_Hell._

He knelt by the edge of the bedframe and kissed him gingerly on the forehead. He brushed the back of his hand across his milky cheek.

Gentle Saihara. Anxious Saihara. Handsome Saihara. Brave Saihara. 

The only damn one out of all of them that didn't deserve what was coming.

“When I said I was sorry, Saihara-chan,” he said. “That was no lie.”

And then he left.   

 

      

 


End file.
